


You Shine Brighter (Than All the Stars in the Sky)

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Tony Stark, Boys In Love, Boys in gowns, Dirty Talk, Engaged Couple, Light Daddy Kink (literally the word is mentioned once), M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tony looks obscenely beautiful in his purple gown, and T'Challa can't believe this gorgeous beauty is his.Tony has no problems reassuring him.





	You Shine Brighter (Than All the Stars in the Sky)

The hand on his thigh is a warm, steady weight through the silk of his gown as Tony rambles on to the Secretary-General of the United Nations, and he shifts his own, pinky coming up to brush lightly against the palm. In response the hand shifts higher, brushing against the crease of his thigh.

He slaps it away, crossing his legs at the knee and shifting away, supressing a smile when the King of Wakanda’s fist clenches in irritation.

**

He comes up behind him, tread light and whisper quiet with his hand outstretched, moving with the same graceful strength the Black Panther is known for.

Tony shifts away as the man draws close, shooting a coy smile over his shoulder and suppressing a giggle at the hero left standing with a hand clutching at air, irritation etched onto his handsome features as Tony spins away in a whirl of purple silk.

**

“Mind if I cut in?” The deep baritone, rich and smooth and dark and husky all at the same time sends shivers down Tony’s spine, and he wonders idly why he’d ever begun the game of cat and mouse in the first place - a waste of time, in hindsight, given that he could’ve spent the evening on his partner’s arm, drinking in the sound of his voice for hours on end.

It’s an easy transition, Rhodey passing him off with a smile as Tony finishes the turn smoothly, slipping from his best friend’s hands into T’Challa’s arms, immediately pulled much closer, pressed up against the firm muscle of an unyielding chest. “You’ve been avoiding me, my love.”

Tony blinks rapidly, lashes fluttering as his smile widens. “What makes you say that, kitty cat? I’ve been right here this entire time,” he claims, bright and cheery even as T’Challa narrows his eyes, expression reminiscent of a disgruntled cat, one Tony is well accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

“Right here, yet, at the same time, maddeningly out of reach. This is the first time all evening I’ve had you in my arms, sweetheart.”

“Maybe that’s just a you problem, your highness,” Tony suggests impishly, gaze flicking away as the other man continues to watch him, unimpressed.

“I think,” T’Challa responds as he hauls Tony impossibly closer, tightening his arms, allowing Tony to feel the power in those biceps, the strength in those forearms. “I think it’s actually a _you_ thing, my sweet. Keeping yourself away, playing games, knowing _exactly_ how you look in that gown, how radiant that colour is against your skin.” T’Challa’s arms shift lower, pulling Tony’s hips flush against his, the press of his erection clear. “You know exactly what it is that you are doing to me, the gown, the teasing glances and coy smiles, your little game of keep away. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know it’s worked, sweetheart. You have my full attention.”

Tony slinks a hand off T’Challa’s shoulder, a slow glide down his chest before palming the bulge in his pants, hand hidden in the folds of Tony’s gown. “Completely _at_ attention from what I can tell, my dear,” Tony says, smug. It’s completely unexpected and catches him completely off guard when T’Challa swivels his hips up, a quick grind that has his dick swelling further in Tony’s hand. It’s T’Challa’s turn to look smug when Tony’s cheeks flush pink, mouth parted and breathing shallow.

“You look a little flushed, my love. Come, let us venture outside, get you some fresh air.” T’Challa moves behind Tony, tucking his hips behind the volume of fabric at Tony’s waist, hiding his erection, heat of his hand seeping through the silk at the small of Tony’s back.

They skirt the edges of the room, T’Challa aiming to avoid being pulled into conversation with anyone, especially when Tony’s hand finds its way back  to the bulge in his pants, caressing his length through the fabric. They make their way onto the balcony, and Tony finds himself crowded against the ledge, edge digging into his middle as T’Challa molds himself to his back, peppering kisses down the back of his neck. His head rolls, craning to the side as T’Challa sucks bruises into his skin. The hands at his waist spin him around, and Tony finds himself face to face with the man in the suit. “Hey, handsome,” Tony grins.

T’Challa laughs, low and hot, breath ghosting over Tony’s face. “Flattery won’t save you from this one, darling.”

Tony tips his head back, lips moving against T’Challa’s own. “Who said I wanted to save myself from anything?” He bites down on his fiancé’s lower lip, tugging lightly. “I’m all in, baby.”

T’Challa pulls him forward with a low growl, closing the scant millimetres between them for a rough kiss. It lacks all of the king’s usual finesse, his tongue invading Tony’s mouth immediately, and Tony shivers in pleasant anticipation. It’s dirty and needy in the best way – the way the other man is licking into his mouth, sucking roughly on his tongue, kissing in a crude imitation of fucking – it’s a promise of dirtier things to come, when T’Challa’s riding the edge of desperation this early in the evening, and it makes Tony’s own cock strain harder against the lace of his thong.

T’Challa bites down on Tony’s lower lip, retaliation for earlier, soothing the sting away with his tongue in apology. He pulls away, smirking against Tony’s mouth as he whines at the loss. “Shh, I’m right here, sweetheart.” He ducks his head, nosing at the column of Tony’s neck. “Think ‘m going to give you a string of purple marks right along your collarbones, match the pretty purple of your gown. Decoration fit for a queen.”

Tony nods his assent, frantic and desperate. “A-anything, anything you want, handsome,” he pants.

“Mm, such desperation,” T’Challa nibbles at the skin between Tony’s collarbones tauntingly. “Unbecoming of a future queen, my love.”

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck about being your future queen, _shit,_ just- fuck me like your whore, _please_ ,” Tony whines, high and needy, and well-

Who is T’Challa to deny such a beautiful request?

He lowers his mouth the rest of the way, beginning at the tip of Tony’s right collarbone. He laves and licks, lavishing an appropriate amount of attention on the skin before he purses his lips and sucks, drawing blood to the surface. Moving on to the next patch of skin, T’Challa continues until there’s a string of bruises blooming purple against Tony’s skin, and his fiancé is whimpering, soft and constant and by all accounts, likely unaware. Blissed out on the sensation of T’Challa’s mouth on his skin, rutting his hips desperately against the other man’s thigh – he’s never looked better, T’Challa thinks as he steps away.

Tony blinks his eyes open, owlish and glazed as he peers up at T’Challa, mewling in confusion at the loss of heat. “So gorgeous for me. I loathe to stop, but I’m afraid the rest of my plans require a bed. And privacy,” he continues, when Tony opens his mouth to dissent. “Come, sweetheart. As radiant as you look _in_ this gown, I’m quite positive you’ll be twice as radiant _out_ of it.”

Tony shakes his head, blinking rapidly as he seems to come back to himself, and T’Challa suppresses a smile as it reminds him of a disgruntled kitten. He watches Tony sashay past, pausing at the French doors to throw a questioning look over his shoulder. “Joke’s on you, baby, I’m twice as radiant _all_ the time. You comin’, kitty cat?” the engineer asks, grinning.

“Lead the way, darling.”

The heavy weight of T’Challa’s hand finds its way back to the small of Tony’s back, and Tony can’t help but burrow closer, revelling in how _right_ it feels, like it belongs there. Tucked into T’Challa’s side, they make their way through the room, T’Challa’s arm shifting to cover the entirety of his waist, thumb rubbing at his hip. Pleasant heat filters its way across Tony’s skin, and he’s eager – practically aching – to be away from the ball as soon as possible.

But a queen’s life is never simple, and obstacles worm their way across their path to the door, in the form of people singularly invested in ensuring Tony never manages to get the king out of his suit and inside him.

And T’Challa is all too happy to stop for everyone who wishes them a good night, informing them how much they enjoyed the evening. His arm stays wrapped around Tony, thumb never ceasing its movement, and Tony catches his fiancé biting his lip to supress a smile as Tony sinks further and further into his side, heat and sensation and ache melting his insides and making his knees week.

Someone’s speaking to them, someone important, but that twist of T’Challa’s lips, the incessant warmth of the man next to him is clouding his mind, words drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pounding in his chest and he leans, lips tipped up to T’Challa’s ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “T’Challa, please, baby. I _need_ you.”

The hand at his side squeezes his waist, fisting the fabric of the gown between fingers, Tony’s body echoing the shiver that runs through T’Challa’s own. Any remaining goodbyes are swift, to the point and minimally polite, and they’re escaping from the ballroom minutes later.

They turn the corner, arriving in front of the elevator, T’Challa presses the button and they wait. Waiting has never been Tony’s strong suit, and he presses the button a few more times, fidgeting with impatience. “Patience, my darling, it will come.”

Tony opens his mouth, response cut off when the elevator dings, doors opening. He extracts himself from T’Challa’s hold, slipping through the door. T’Challa takes a step forward, eyebrow lifting in amusement when Tony holds a hand out, shaking his head. “Race you, kitty cat, loser gets to come last. And patience isn’t really my virtue.” Tony winks as the doors shut, and T’Challa can’t help but laugh.

T’Challa strolls to the staircase, taking his sweet time climbing to the third floor. Tony’s right – patience really isn’t one of his virtues, and T’Challa quite enjoys making him squirm. He pads across the landing, footsteps quiet, inching the door open, mouth dry and throat suspiciously parched as he catches sight of Tony’s reflection in the mirror.

Back arched, one arm reaching over his head and the other behind his back, squirming and writhing as he struggles to reach for the zipper. T’Challa settles against the door frame, arms crossing as he admires the view, unapologetically imagining all the other ways he can make Tony to squirm. He’s lost in ideas when Tony catches his eye through the mirror, eyebrow raised. “You gonna come help me, handsome? Or just watch me struggle?”

“I think I quite like the view from over here, sweetheart. Watching you struggle is quite enjoyable.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Get over here, asshole. A queen doesn’t deserve to struggle.”

“Such filthy language,” T’Challa tuts, shaking his head in mock dismay as he walks over. “Do you kiss your king with that mouth?”

“I do.” T’Challa moves up behind Tony, breath warm on the nape of Tony’s neck. “He loves it.”

“That he does,” T’Challa whispers softly, inching the zipper down.

“You lost, by the way,” Tony breathes, eyes fluttering shut as T’Challa’s lips come down on the newly bared skin of his shoulder. “Just in case you were keeping track.”

T’Challa exhales, soft and slow, pressing a kiss to Tony’s pulse point. “I’ll always lose to you, my love.”

Tony groans, unexpectedly spinning in the king’s hold, yanking T’Challa down for a kiss with a hand on his neck. He wastes no time in taking it slow, tracing T’Challa’s upper lip with his tongue, slipping into his mouth when the other man opens up on a groan. It’s a filthy kiss, slick tongue and wet lips, open-mouthed and desperate. Tony shrugs his shoulders, gown slipping off and down his hips, pooling at his feet. He pushes at T’Challa’s chest, moving them backwards until T’Challa’s knees hit the bed and buckle, falling backwards to splay across the bed.

Tony moves up over him, straddling T’Challa’s lap, a knee on either side of his thighs. His hand snakes between them, resting over the zipper on T’Challa’s slacks. He teases the other man’s length through the fabric, fingers light as they trace back and forth, achingly slow. “It’s no-not nice to tease, darling,” T’Challa reprimands, severity lost in the breathlessness of his voice.

“You lost, remember?” Tony leans down, brushing his lips across the king’s, pulling away when T’Challa tilts his head up in an attempt to deepen the kiss. “Gotta take it slow, baby.” Tony inches the zipper down, smirking at T’Challa’s hiss as his hand wraps around his fiancé’s length. Tony pulls it out of his pants, stroking slowly from base to tip. He twists his hand on the upstroke, biting his lip to hold back his own moan when T’Challa groans, hips fucking up into his fist.

“I- I thought you wanted me to fuck you like one of my whores,” T’Challa pants.

“Change of plans,” Tony grins. “I wanna ride you like one of your whores.” He hears the hitch in T’Challa’s breath and strokes faster, rougher, tightening his grip. His free hand reaches up, pulling T’Challa’s lower lip from between his teeth, leaning down to nip at it, relishing the sharp exhale he receives in return.

“At least un-undress me, sweetheart.”

“Why would I?” Tony asks, question serious, ignoring T’Challa’s whine when he moves his hand away, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand, uncapping it and squirting the lube into his palm. “I have all I need right here.” He flicks his finger against T’Challa’s cock to emphasise his point, watching in awe as that pulls a shaking groan from his shuddering chest, head thrown back in an attempt to deal with the overwhelming friction. “Mm, that feel good, baby?”

“ _Fuck_ , everything about you always feel good, gorgeous,” T’Challa admits, honest and open and giving as ever, and Tony feels himself give in, slicking T’Challa’s cock with lube before moving over it.

T’Challa stops him with a hand at his waist. “No prep?”

Tony grins, leaning down to place a quick peck on his lips. “Plenty loose from earlier, kitty cat,” he says as he reaches down, lining up T’Challa’s cock with his hole. “And you know how much I love the stretch.” With that, Tony begins to sink down, throwing his head back on a moan at the stretch, feeling the vibrations of T’Challa’s growl under his hand.

He moves achingly slow, the lack of prep a flimsy excuse to drive T’Challa wild. The hands at his waist get tighter and tighter as he sinks, leaving bruises, nails sinking into soft skin, leaving indents in their wake. Tony loves it, every scratch, every mark, every bruise, loves it as much as he loves the stretch of taking T’Challa’s cock to the hilt, hot and achingly, exquisitely full – little reminders of who he belongs to.

“O-oh, oh _fuck_ handsome, you fill me up so well. _Shit_ , feel so full,” Tony whimpers, shifting his hips in a little circle.

“Is that right, sweetheart? Am I giving your perfect little hole what it needs?” T’Challa questions, nearly breathless at the end when Tony finally begins to move, hips rising up a few inches before sinking back down.

“Mhmm, so good to me, baby- so full I can feel you in my fucking throat,” Tony gasps, fucking his hips back up before slowly moving down. His ass meets the lean muscle of T’Challa’s thighs again, and he grinds, driving the length of T’Challa’s cock into his prostate. “Always make me feel so _goddamn_ good.” T’Challa gives an involuntary buck of his hips, feet planting on the mattress as he drives them up, praise sinking deep into his skin, need for friction suddenly overwhelming.

Tony reaches down, pulling T’Challa’s hands off his waist, lacing their fingers before pinning their intertwined hands on either side of T’Challa’s head. “Always making me feel so good, let me make you feel good for a change. Give you so much pleasure you won’t be able to see straight, and all you have to do is take it. Please, your highness?” He punctuates his question with another slow grind of his hips, and T’Challa doesn’t respond, distracted with trying not to pound into the tight heat above him. Tony tuts, pushing his lips into a pout. “ _Please_ , my king?”

T’Challa nods, shaky and broken, a sharp jerk of his head, but it’s all Tony needs. He sets an unbearably slow place, raising his hips all the way up until the head of T’Challa’s cock is barely breaching his entrance, before sinking back down, agonizing inch at a time. Then he grinds down, a deep swivel of his hips sparking pleasure against his prostate. It’s a slow rhythm, and it doesn’t take long before T’Challa’s trashing his head back and forth, high pitched pleas of _faster, please_ and _god, just fucking_ move _, sweetheart_ going straight to Tony’s cock, pre-come beading at the slit, smearing fluid against T’Challa’s stomach as he moves. “Want- _need_ me to go faster, do ya, handsome?”

“ _God_ , yes, _please_ Tony, you’re driving me crazy.”

“That’s the plan, kitty cat, to drive you wild.” Tony pauses, leaning down to lick a stripe up T’Challa’s neck, chasing a bead of sweat that rolls down the unmarked length. “I quite like the way it’s working out.”

T’Challa whimpers, and Tony forgets how to breathe, sound needy and desperate and absolutely gorgeous. “Fuck, so needy for me, aren’t you, my king? So needy for one of your whores?”

“N-no,” T’Challa denies, trying to even his breathing and failing miserably. “Just you.”

“Just me, huh?” Tony smiles, pleased, shivering in delight. “Just for that, I think you deserve to come.”

T’Challa raises an eyebrow. “I lost, angel, as you were so quick to remind me. Loser comes last, was what you said, I believe.”

“Change of plans – I want you to come inside me first. Any complaints, your highness?” Tony smirks in amusement when T’Challa rapidly shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.” But he doesn’t move, and soon enough T’Challa starts to shift his hips restlessly, the heat of Tony tight and wet and utterly unmoving around him driving him out of his mind with need.

“Shit- Tony, sweetheart, why won’t you _move_?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony responds, though in all honesty he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “I don’t remember hearing you beg for it,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“You want- you want your king to beg?” T’Challa asks, incredulous. Tony only nods in affirmation, grunting in surprise when T’Challa suddenly leans up, nearly dislodging him, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Mm, you want your king to beg to come in that gloriously tight heat? To fill it and own it, paint it white with my come? Beg to mark you as mine, let my come drip down your legs-here, in the throne room, anywhere you go just covered in my come? Want me to beg for you to ride me until your legs are quivering and your body is shaking, exhausted and strung out from bringing me so much pleasure? Is that what you want me to beg you for, sweet thing?”

The whisper is a deceptively, deliciously stark contrast to the filthy words and Tony places his hands on T’Challa’s chest, pushing until the other man caves, laying back. He grabs his fiancé’s wrists, replacing them next to his head. “Fuck, never mind,” Tony groans, placing his hands on T’Challa’s chest. “If you keep talking like that ‘m gonna come. Just keep your hands there and let me ride you.”

T’Challa smiles. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I can beg- beg you to ride me until I can’t see straight, my love, then make me come so hard inside that pretty little hole that I can’t breathe.”

Tony’s already set a quick pace, fucking his hips back and forth with quick snatches, shaking his head rapidly. “ _Stop. Talking_ ,” he growls, and T’Challa acquiesces, throwing his head back on a moan as the friction increasingly becomes too much, his orgasm building rapidly. His hands clench around air, and he disobeys Tony’s orders, flinging his arm over the side of the bed to grasp the bedspread.

Tony’s just about to reprimand him for it when he brings his hand back, gripping the purple silk of the edge of Tony’s gown in his hand. Tony nearly buckles in pleasure when T’Challa wraps his hand around Tony’s cock, the silk cool and smooth on his overheated flesh. “Baby, _ooh_ , fuck, handsome, what ‘re you doing?”

T’Challa grins, a filthy, salacious thing, dripping with promise. “I know you said you wanted me to come first, angel,” he says, beginning to stroke, undeterred by Tony’s whine. “But I always like to make my partners come first, whores or otherwise. Gets me off, you see, makes my own orgasm ten times stronger. So I want _you_ to come first.”

And Tony mewls, breath caught in his throat as he struggles to keep his hips moving, caught between sitting back on T’Challa’s cock and fucking his own cock into his covered fist. “Tha-at, that gown is worth hundred of thousands of dollars, babe,” he manages to gasp.

“And what of it?” T’Challa asks, voice surprisingly cool, dark and husky but not entirely wrecked and it drips over Tony syrupy smooth, making his head spin with want. “I could buy you forty of these gowns, my love. And your orgasm is priceless.”

“Doesn’t feel as good as your hand, want, _ah_ , wanna feel your hand, handsome,” Tony pants, pleading.

“And I want to see you come on this gown, darling,” T’Challa responds, sharp and commanding. “Want to watch you make a mess, paint this pretty gown white with your come just because I said so, because you want to be a good little whore for me. You want that, don’t you?” He twists his wrist on the upstroke, and Tony nearly screams, orgasm building as he nods his head frantically, unable to form the words. “Of course you do, want to be so good for your king. Your king wants you to make a mess, baby- of you, of me, of this gown. Come for me, gorgeous, want to watch you get all dirty.” Tony whines, moving his hips faster, no longer riding but grinding down, pushing the head of T’Challa’s cock against his prostate over and over.

“Trying, baby, _ohh_ , shit, trying so hard,” Tony cries, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

“Shh, I know, I know you are, sweet thing,” T’Challa soothes, running a calming hand up and down Tony’s side. “You can do it, sweetheart. Come for me.” A pause, because T’Challa knows that sometimes Tony needs more, when it’s too much and too little all at the same time and he’s riding the edge of his orgasm but unable to come down, the one little thing to push him over. “ _Come for daddy._ ”

Tony’s hips stutter to a stop, jerking forward once, twice, before he’s coming, head thrown back, mouth parted on a silent scream. His vision nearly whites out at the edges, and he buckles forward, collapsing on T’Challa’s chest, gasping for breath in the crook of his neck as he grinds forward, riding out the aftershocks.

Only T’Challa’s wrist doesn’t stop moving, circling the silken fabric over the head of his cock, and he cries out, over sensitive. “What’s the matter, my love?”

“H-hurts, baby, need you to- to stop,” Tony huffs, trying desperately to catch his breath.

“Oh no, love. I stop when you make me come, hmm? I did it for you, and it’s only fair that you return the favour for your king.” T’Challa continues stroking, smearing the wetness of Tony’s come around the head. “Get those hips moving, darling.”

Tony heaves himself up, muscles shaking with exertion, riding the edge of pain as T’Challa refuses to let up. He whimpers, attempting to shake his cock from T’Challa’s hold, but it only shifts him further back on the dick lodged inside him, nudging against his over sensitive prostate. His head rolls forward, eyes closed as he tries to overcome the overwhelming sensations, focussing his energy on the slow rolls of his hips.

“That’s it, look at you, so gorgeous for me. Taking my cock so well, _mm_ , such a lovely queen, for your king. I’m so proud to call you mine, my love.” The praise sinks into Tony’s skin, and despite his nearly earth shattering orgasm mere minutes ago, his cock begins to fill out in T’Challa’s hand again. “Hard again for me already, angel? What is it that’s getting you off? Is it when I tell you how good you are for me, or the filthy sound of your cock moving through your own come on the gown? Or is it both?” Tony shakes his head, unable to form any words besides the litany of _please_ that falls from his swollen lips. “Need me to come, gorgeous?”

“Yes, _fuck_ , need you to come, fill me up, make me yours.”

“Oh, you’re already mine, sweetheart. That’s it, keep moving, just like that. Tell me how good I feel inside you. Please, baby? Tell me how good my cock makes you feel.”

“So fucking good,” Tony swears, grinding his hips down, crying out at the sensation. His cock is still sensitive, held in the tight grip of wet silk and the heat of T’Challa’s hand, but he’s hard, achingly so. “You feel so fucking good inside me, stretching me out, making me take it, _god_ , no one’s ever made me feel as good as you, handsome. Fuck me so well, split me open on your cock.”

T’Challa’s eyes flutter shut, lashes casting a shadow against his cheekbones. The hand around Tony’s cock continues to stroke, but his free hand tightens on the man’s waist, and he shifts up, beginning to meet Tony’s downward thrust with his own stroke upwards. Their rhythm builds, and the only sounds in the room are the sounds of skin against skin, harsh pants and breathy gasps, the wet slide of Tony’s cock moving through his own come.

It doesn’t take long for T’Challa’s orgasm to build, and he pulls Tony down, seating himself to the hilt with a soft warning of _oh fuck sweetheart, I’m coming_ before he comes. Tony shudders at the wet heat of T’Challa’s come filling him, and he fucks his hips forward into T’Challa’s hand, following on his heels and coming with a soft sigh as he paints the silk again, dirt and sodden beyond repair and so painfully, unbearably hot. Tony collapses forward, gasping for against T’Challa’s shoulder and T’Challa carefully extracts his hand from between them, discarding the gown to the side before rolling them on to their side. He wraps himself around Tony, arm banding around his chest as he burrows his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, lips curling in fond amusement at Tony’s soft purr. “I’ll be right back, my love,” T’Challa promises in a soft whisper, placing a quick peck on Tony’s cheek before pulling out of Tony, wincing at the sensitivity.

He makes his way to the bathroom, wetting a cloth and wiping himself down, and wetting another one for Tony. He walks into the bedroom, only to find the bed empty and the doors to the balcony open. He finds Tony swaddled in a blanket, leaning against the railing, staring out at the open sky.

“I don’t know if I should be offended that you’re still able to walk,” T’Challa jokes.

“Blame the view,” Tony laughs, shivering in delight when T’Challa wraps him in an embrace from behind.

“There’s no view more captivating than you, sweetheart.”

“The Wakandan sky would beg to differ, I think,” quips Tony, spinning to face his fiancé.

“I grew up here, angel. I’ve spent my entire life here, much of it on this very balcony –  no one has spent more time on this balcony than I and I am telling you, without a doubt, the stars do not hold a candle to you, my love,” T’Challa whispers, soft and sweet against Tony’s lips, the utter sincerity in his eyes enough to render Tony speechless.

“I love you, my king,” Tony breathes, placing a soft kiss on T’Challa’s lips.

“And I love you, my queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is [starkerchemistryy](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/starkerchemistryy), come say hi!


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